“So, they’re about three to four years old? They’ll have their own group-slash-private lesson? And they’ll either be doing Kinder-Zozo or Zone 1?”

“Yes! Very good! Wow, you know Zozo programs very —”

“If that’s the case, I have all the materials for their age group ready to go. But now, I have to go. See you tomorrow, okay?”

Manager freezes, stunned. He reluctantly pulls away from the elevator. “Yes, I see. Maybe. Okay. See you again. Otsukaresama deshita.”

“Otsukare!” I keep waving until the elevator doors slide closed. Thank you, God. I close my eyes, relieved. I don’t bother putting my coat on, even when I get outside. I stuff it right on top of my purse in my bike basket and put the pedal to the metal. I’m starving (again) and for some reason, I feel ready to freak out some squares in the name of co-worker camaraderie. Maybe it’s the sugar rush from all those delicious cakes.

I bike home and sadly have to choose between eating a real meal and changing into something I don’t mind reeking of smoke later. I go for changing into a fresh black button-down and black jeans, taking only my wallet and my phone. I’m not dressing to impress anyone tonight. Yoshino lets me park my bike in front of the Zozo building so it won’t get stolen. Kappa Garappa isn’t packed like last Saturday, nor is it as chock full of smoke. We grab a table and polish off two small bowls of edamame and some slices of daikon with a couple of rounds of highballs. Yoshino’s guy still hasn’t shown up, but we are having a great time without him.

“You want the last edamame?” I ask Yoshino.

“No way, I’ve already had, like, ten. You have it.”

I laugh. “Only ten?! I’ve had way more than that!” We argue for a minute before I finally snatch it up with my chopsticks. “We’re like Mr. and Mrs. Sprat,” I say around a mouthful of soybeans.

“Who?” Yoshino chuckles, taking out yet another cigarette from her purse.

“Jack Sprat. And his wife. Have you heard of that poem? Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean? You’re Jack, and I’m your wife.”

She bursts out laughing with a gust of smoke she quickly tries to wave out of my face. “Sorry! That’s kinda cool that you can remember poetry like that. Nursery rhymes, right? Geez, I can barely remember what I had for breakfast with the shit show Zozo has become.”